


It looked a lot bigger in the picture

by ravenclawsquill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Dogging, Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Bickering, Car Sex, Draco!logic, Established Relationship, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Shameless Butchering of the Italian Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 05:16:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10236686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenclawsquill/pseuds/ravenclawsquill
Summary: Draco is determined to experience the full novelty of an authentic Muggle holiday. Harry doesn't quite understand, but when does he ever understand Draco? (Or, the time Harry and Draco accidentally went dogging in a car the size of a matchbox.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [carpemermaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carpemermaid/gifts).



> This fic was written for the [Anywhere But The Bed Comment Fest](http://birdsofshore.livejournal.com/152481.html#comments) over at Livejournal, in response to a hilariously filthy prompt submitted by [Carpemermaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carpemermaid/profile). It was intended as a very short piece, but it got hopelessly out of hand, as these things so often do. 
> 
> Just in case anyone isn’t familiar with miniscule European cars, Harry and Draco’s ridiculous rental car looks exactly like this:
> 
>  
> 
> The fic is unbeta'd, so if you spot any mistakes, I'd love it if you'd drop me a line to let me know.

-*-*-*-

“Tell me again why we need a car?” Harry asked, squinting as he and Draco followed the car rental assistant – Adriana, according to her name badge – out into the bright Turin sun.

Draco sighed. “Because this is an authentic Muggle road trip. How else do you propose we drive through the mountains to the Gran Paradiso National Park?”

Harry frowned. “Surely we could just Apparate there?”

“Absolutely not!” Draco snapped, wringing his hands in frustration. “You don't understand: it’s for the _novelty_! Pansy’s still raving about how funny it was to do things the Muggle way on her skiing trip. This will be exactly like that, only better.”

“Right. Fair enough.” Harry didn't quite see where novelty came into it, but perhaps he’d just spent too many hours in Uncle Vernon’s car as a kid, receiving a nasty punch from Dudley every time they passed a yellow car. Still, perhaps it would be fun to get back behind the wheel: it had been years since he’d driven a car.

They walked on in silence, Adriana’s perilously high heels demanding a painfully slow pace. By the time she finally came to a stop at the far end of the car park, Harry’s back was damp with sweat and his arms were protesting fiercely at the weight of his and Draco’s suitcases. There had been nowhere private to shrink them at the airport, so he’d somehow ended up as the designated pack mule.

Draco’s stony expression brightened considerably when Adriana handed him a set of keys.

“Here is your car, signore,” she said, gesturing grandly with her left hand.

“Grazi—hold on, what?!”

Draco’s jaw dropped as he took in the sight of their vehicle. Adriana was pointing not to the smart BMW beside them, but the car hidden behind it: a bright yellow original Fiat 500, so small it looked like a child’s toy. The wheels looked like those of a supermarket trolley and the roof barely came up to Draco’s waist.

“There must be a mistake,” Draco stammered. “I booked a car, not a shoebox on wheels!”

Adriana pursed her immaculately-lined lips. “No, signore, there is no mistake. You asked for “traditional car for authentic road trip”, no?”

“Yes, but—”

She held out her clipboard and jabbed it with a sharp red talon. “Then, no mistake. It’s right here, see?”

For a brief moment, Draco’s expression turned so deeply mutinous that Harry was sure he was going to draw his wand and hex her. Thankfully, he managed to regain his self-control just in time. He leaned in to read the contract, his brow creased in concentration.

“Is there an alternative car we could use?”

“No. All other cars are reserved,” Adriana said firmly. Her tone remained coolly professional, but Harry was sure he could see a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of her lips.

Draco glared at her in disbelief, but seemed to realise there was nothing to be gained from making a scene. “Fine. Grazie,” he scowled.

Adriana gave him a wide, victorious smile. “You’re welcome. Enjoy Turin, gentlemen!” With that, she turned sharply on her stiletto heel and began the incredibly slow walk back to the car rental office.

Once she was safely out of sight, Harry quickly shrank the suitcases and placed them in his pocket: there was no way they’d fit in the car at full size.

Meanwhile, Draco appeared to be having some sort of aneurism. “ _Harry_ ,” he hissed. “This is a disaster. _Look at it!_ ” He pointed frantically at the tiny car, as if there was any way Harry could have missed the problem. “There isn’t room to swing a Kneazle in there! And besides, it must be older than my father!”

“Stop it!” Harry wheezed, leaning against the top of the car. Draco’s fury, the ludicrous little clown car … it was all too much. Tears of mirth rolled down his cheeks; he could barely breathe for laughing. Several minutes passed before he managed to compose himself, and even then he couldn't contain his grin. All the while, Draco watched him, looking considerably less amused. 

Harry took a final deep, calming breath. “Come on, it’ll be fine.”

The glare Draco gave him suggested that he thought otherwise, but eventually he nodded and stalked round to the passenger side in silence.

Even climbing into the car was no easy feat, requiring an awkward squatting posture not unlike that of a Gringotts Goblin. When they were finally settled in their seats, Harry took a moment to appreciate the absurdity of the situation. Both of their heads reached the roof and there was so little leg room that Draco was practically crouched in the passenger seat with his knees up by his ears. Harry had never been so grateful to be of average height.

“Shut up,” Draco growled. “It looked a lot bigger in the picture.”

“Mmm, of course it did,” Harry said mildly.

He turned the key in the ignition only to burst into a fresh fit of laughter as the engine emitted an embarrassingly high-pitched whirring noise. The car sounded more like a small lawnmower than a vehicle capable of transporting two fully-grown men.

As they set off – a little jerkily, thanks to the unfamiliar clutch pedal – Harry heard Draco mutter something under his breath. It sounded a lot like “ _makes things more difficult…_ ”, but Harry knew better than to ask what he meant.

-*-*-*-

As it happened, Harry learned the meaning of Draco’s cryptic comment later that evening.

It had been a long day of driving through the city, characterised by terrible traffic jams and much bickering over whether they should employ an undetectable extension charm to increase the size of the car. Draco was incredibly tempted, but Harry couldn't see how they’d ever manage to return it to its original size without causing any damage.

“It’s vintage,” he’d protested, over and over again. “We can't just go changing it.” Of course, his words had fallen on deaf ears: in Draco’s mind, anything under two-hundred years old couldn't possibly be deemed vintage.

In the end, Harry had won the argument, but it was a hollow and uncomfortable victory. By the end of the day, he had a monstrous crick in his neck and wanted nothing more than a hot bath back at their hotel. 

Luck wasn’t on Harry’s side, though: when the sun began to sink below the horizon, Draco insisted that Harry drive them up to the Basilica di Superga to enjoy the views over the city. Only the promise of a spectacular blowjob later that night convinced Harry to climb back into the driver’s seat, but he still wasn't happy about it, particularly given that Draco proceeded to keep him waiting by taking a ridiculously long time getting ready in the bathroom.

After twenty-five minutes of driving along countless quiet, winding roads, Draco suddenly grabbed Harry’s shoulder. 

“Okay, this will do. Stop here.”

“But we’re not there yet!” Harry protested.

“I don't care! Stop!”

Harry pulled over into the next layby and removed the key from the ignition, bringing the feeble buzzing of the engine to a sudden stop.

“Happy?” Harry groused. The view down over the city was fine, he supposed, but it was far from spectacular. For a start, it was partly hidden by the trees which lined this part of the road. Draco, meanwhile, seemed delighted.

“Yes,” he beamed. “Now, help me get undressed. We’re going to fuck in here.”

“Wh-what?” Harry spluttered.

Draco looked at him oddly and repeated, very slowly and clearly, “We’re. Going. To. Fuck. In. Here.”

Harry blinked. “Have you completely lost your mind?”

“No,” Draco said firmly. “Like I said earlier, this holiday is all about the _novelty_.”

Harry frowned, confused. “What’s novel about having sex? We do that all the time!”

Draco’s smile was beginning to fade into an impatient grimace. He took a deep breath. “Look, it’s quite simple. Pansy let Millie finger her on a ski lift, and my life wouldn't be worth living if I went back home without one-upping her, somehow.”

Harry fought back a shudder. Pansy Parkinson’s sex life ranked fairly high up the list of things he’d rather drink Bubotuber Pus than think about. He shook his head firmly to clear away the unwanted mental image, and brought his attention back to the more pressing matter at hand.

“Right … are you sure you want to fuck in _this_ car, though? There’s barely room to sit in here, let alone … _thrust_...” he finished lamely.

Draco nodded stubbornly. “Yes I do. I know it’s not exactly ideal, but that’s why I’ve prepared myself.”

“Prepared…?” Despite Harry’s attempt to remain focused on why this was an incredibly bad idea, a rush of heat shot to his prick at Draco’s insinuation. “What do you mean, prepared?”

Draco smirked. “You’ll see, if you hurry up and help me out of my clothes.”

Harry’s resolve crumbled. “Fine.”

It took much awkward manoeuvring and a fair amount of swearing to get Draco into position, but once they’d managed, Harry had to admit it was quite a sight. Draco was completely naked from the waist down, kneeling backwards on the passenger seat with his shoulders squeezed between the two front seats.

“Want to see how ready I am for you?” he purred.

“Show me,” Harry whispered.

Draco grinned and leaned forward as far as he could in the limited space to reveal the flared base of a thick plug.

Harry’s mouth went dry. “Oh _god_.”

“That's what you’ll be saying in a minute, yes. But first, you need to take it out.”

Harry reached out and nudged the base of the plug with his fingertips, listening for the telltale hitch of Draco’s breath as the toy moved inside him, stroking his sensitive inner walls. He wasn't disappointed.

Harry’s jeans were suddenly far too tight, pressing uncomfortably against his erection. He quickly unfastened them, then, resisting the urge to touch himself, took hold of the base of the plug and tugged gently.

He watched, half-hypnotised by the sight of Draco’s rim stretching around silicone plug. Twice, he pulled it halfway out only to push it back in hard, relishing the shuddering gasps it drew from Draco’s lips. The third time, Harry wasn't so cruel. Once the widest part was free, the tip of the plug slipped from Draco’s body in a rush.

Harry wasn't about to leave Draco empty, though: he quickly replaced the thick plug with two of his fingers. Draco was wonderfully loose, almost gaping slightly from the girth of the plug, and Harry’s fingers slipped in all the way to the knuckle, meeting no resistance at all.

“Nnnngghh,” Harry groaned as Draco clenched around his fingertips.

“It’s supposed to be me groaning, not you,” Draco panted as he tried unsuccessfully to push back against Harry’s hand – the limited space allowed for barely an inch of movement. His channel was wonderfully hot and slick with lube: he’d done an incredibly thorough job of preparing for this. “Now, are you going to finger me or fuck me?”

“Fuck you, definitely,” Harry growled.

The decision was an easy one, but finding a position which would allow for sex was far more difficult. The steering wheel meant that the driver’s seat was a definite no go, so they attempted to switch places.

It took several minutes, but once Harry was sitting, not quite comfortably, in the passenger seat, Draco clambered over to straddle his lap. As he did so, he suddenly jolted up with a howl. 

“Gearstick … arse … _bloody car!_ ”

Eventually they made it into a position where sex was physically possible, though it was far from ideal. One of Draco’s legs was jammed awkwardly against the door, the other perilously close to the gearstick. His back was wedged against the dashboard, his head pressed against the windscreen.

The superhuman effort required to get this far did have one positive, though: the car’s tiny windows were misted over with a haze of condensation, masking them from view.

“Ready?” Harry asked, breathless with anticipation.

Draco didn’t answer. Instead, he carefully lined himself up and slid all the way down Harry’s cock, right down to the base, in one smooth movement. Harry’s eyes fell shut at the onslaught of sensation: the tight, slick heat was exactly what he needed.

The lack of space didn’t allow for anything other than shallow movements, but Draco was determined to make the best of it. He leaned back as far as he could, gasping as Harry’s prick pushed firmly against his prostate.

Harry was powerless to prevent himself from pushing up into Draco, filling him over and over again, the minuscule car rocking from left to right with every thrust. It wasn’t long before their breathing became heavy, their movements frantic. Harry was getting close, he wouldn’t last much longer...

_Tap tap tap!_

Harry froze mid-thrust. “Shhh,” he whispered, silencing Draco’s moan of frustration.

_Tap tap tap!_

He reached out and clumsily wiped the steamed up window with his forearm. His stomach lurched at the sight outside.

“Bloody hell. I think we’ve made some friends.”

There were two men stood by the passenger window, peering in through the fogged glass, hands flying over each other’s hard cocks.

“Harry, who are those people?” Draco asked, his voice strained as he peered through the clear section of the window. “What are they doing? Besides the obvious, I mean.”

“They’re doggers, Draco.”

“Doggers? What in Merlin’s name are doggers?”

“Erm.” Harry paused, wondering how best to explain it. “Dogging is where people have public sex in and around cars. Like we’re having right now, I suppose. Doggers come to watch. Sometimes they … join in.”

“ _Join in?_ ”

Harry swallowed. “You know: get in the car, or maybe just wank up against the windows to show us they're enjoying watching us...”

Quick as a flash, Draco reached out and locked both of the doors, jabbing Harry awkwardly in the ribs with his bony elbow as he did so. The car was so narrow he didn’t even need to stretch.

“What are you doing?” Harry hissed.

“What do you think? I’m hardly going to let someone else try to get in this ridiculous vehicle. It’s too small for a wank, let alone an orgy!”

Harry bit back a laugh. It was a fair point.

“Now, get on with it, and make it good,” Draco commanded.

“What?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “For Merlin’s sake, fuck me! If they’re going to watch, we may as well give them a proper show.”

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but before he could say anything, Draco rolled his hips, slow and dirty, and Harry’s train of thought fizzled out.

His protests lost, he reached between them and wrapped his fingers around Draco’s cock. The awkward angle was murder on his wrist, but he did his best to set a rhythm of slow, even strokes, all the way from base to tip.

“ _Siiiii, signore!!!!! Molto bene!!!_ ” Draco moaned, alarmingly loud, tipping Harry a roguish wink as he writhed in his lap, grinding desperately against the base of Harry’s cock.

“You … are … _terrible_!” Harry panted, thrusting sharply up between each word.

The final one did the trick. Draco’s dreadful broken Italian gave way to Harry’s favourite sound of all: the needy whimper he made when he reached the point of no return.

Sure enough, Draco leaned in for a messy kiss as his orgasm hit, the muscles of his arse clenching tight around Harry’s prick. His cock pulsed in Harry’s hand, spilling his release between them, all over their crumpled shirts.

It took great effort, but Harry forced himself to stay perfectly still as Draco’s climax came to an end; Draco was always overly sensitive after coming when he bottomed. “That … was …”

“—bloody uncomfortable,” Draco finished. His cheeks were flushed a deliciously deep shade of pink, his hair damp with sweat and sticking out in all directions. Harry was sure his boyfriend had never looked sexier.

Draco shifted his hips backwards, giving a sated sigh as Harry’s cock slipped from his arse.

“Hang on, what about me?” Harry protested.

“I haven't forgotten about you,” Draco smirked. “Get back in the driver’s seat: we’ll finish this back at the hotel. The things I want to do to you require rather more space than this car allows.”

Harry laughed, even as anticipation and arousal twisted in the pit of his stomach. “That’s the best idea you’ve had all holiday.”


End file.
